


One of His Turns

by afropuffchan



Series: Desperately Wicked and Unknown [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, bottom!Rumlow, the pairing is its own warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 17:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1825750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afropuffchan/pseuds/afropuffchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When side effects of the Asset's conditioning appear yet again that impede the man's performance, Pierce expects Rumlow to help out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of His Turns

The STRIKE team brought the Asset back to base after their successful mission. There were two minor casualties but no fatalities except for the intended targets. On their way back to the facility, the Asset had become agitated and begun to perspire. His breath now came heavily through his rigid mask as he was led to the holding area where he was kept between missions. Rumlow paused in the hallway when he noticed the man's heaving chest. He reached up to unfasten the mask, the Soldier giving him an intense and grateful look as it slid from his face.

"Take him down to the lab," Rumlow told Rollins and the others, handing one of them the rigid mask. "I've got to get a new sidearm. This one's a goner." He turned to the Asset. "If it wasn't for you, I would have gotten my head shot off back there. Thanks, Winter," Brock said, his hand alighting briefly on his flesh and blood shoulder before it slid away. "Don't worry. The eggheads down there will fix you up good as new," he added casually before turning away. Brock missed the intense gaze that the Soldier gave him, his head swiveling around so that his eyes could follow Rumlow's receding form as he was led down the corridor in the opposite direction.

When the men entered the room, the head scientist's face was a mask of alarm after seeing the condition the Asset was in. "How long has he been like this?" he asked as he gestured for them to guide the man down into the chair.

"Since we finished the mission," Rollins answered. "He's gotten pretty bad in the last ten minutes or so."

Scientists and assistants milled around the seated man, the STRIKE members backing away to let them work. They unfastened the Asset's holsters and his jacket so they'd be able to hook him up to equipment to monitor his vital signs. The Winter Soldier stared forward with an odd expression on his face that was as confused as it was hungry. His eyes swept the room as though searching for something. He let out a loud surprised moan when the attendants slid his Kevlar-lined leather jacket off and the rough material rubbed against his erect nipples, a flush creeping up his chest. The other occupants of the room shared looks amongst each other while the head scientist gestured to his assistant to hand him a syringe. After administering the drug, the man frowned as though the syringe offended him when the substance didn't have the desired effect.

Footsteps down the hallway heralded Alexander Pierce's arrival. As soon as Pierce entered the room, the Asset's eyes tracked his movements. Pierce examined the man in the chair while the head scientist vibrated nervously nearby. The Asset's flushed skin had a sheen of sweat that wasn't caused by exertion. He gazed up at Pierce with eyes whose pupils had swallowed their irises until they were thin blue rings. His lips were faintly parted, and he breathed heavily through his mouth, moistening his lips periodically with a pink tongue. It was hard for anyone in the room not to notice what was tenting the man's dark pants.

"This again?" Pierce asked the head scientist in an irritated voice. "I thought you were controlling this reaction."

"Mr. Pierce, he metabolizes the drugs to combat it too quickly," the scientist tried to explain. "In the past, he was out of cryo for shorter periods of time, so reportedly the reaction didn't become this severe before he was put back on ice. Now that he's out of cryo on longer missions, it's difficult to give him enough medication to keep up with how fast he clears it from his body. He's also built up a tolerance to some of the suppressants we've given him in the past-"

"Look," Pierce interrupted, his patience wearing thin. "He can't go back into cryo right now. I've got three targets that still need to be eliminated. You assured me that you had this under control."

"We're doing our best," the scientist said in his team's defense.

"Well, you need to do better! Look at him," Pierce said, his hand extending toward the Asset in demonstration. "He's in no shape to take care of anything for us right now. We can thank whatever genius it was years ago who decided to fool around with trying to give the Asset a sense of euphoria after completing a successful mission."

"Well, they wanted to reduce the dependence on harsher, more damaging techniques to control the Asset's behavior. Giving him a sense of satisfaction after completing a mission was supposed to be an incentive for him to be more cooperative, in theory, anyway," the scientist explained.

"In practice, it hasn't been such a good idea, has it?" Pierce told him, tilting his head toward the man. He glanced at the Asset, who had been watching him the whole time with an odd look. "I don't care what you have to do, get him-"

"That's a nice suit," the Asset told him, making Pierce gaze at him quizzically with raised eyebrows.

"What?"

"You always wear such nice suits," the man told him. There was something about the assessing gaze that the Soldier slid over Pierce's form that had him moving a few steps away out of discomfort.

"Handle this," Pierce told the scientist.

"But we can't find a drug that will work-"

"Then, do it the old fashioned way," Pierce answered, making the scientist blanch.

"But it's not like we can call anyone or take him to a broth-"

"Of course not," Pierce said in a tone that stated that this should be obvious. "It would have to be someone in house. The Asset isn't supposed to exist to the public at large, after all."

Pierce eyed a female assistant who, upon noticing his observation of her, gazed back nervously. "In HYDRA, everyone has to make sacrifices," he said to her and everyone else in the room. The woman looked to the head scientist as Pierce approached her for support, but he made a gesture of helplessness behind the other man's back. "Oh come now," Pierce said as he noticed her reluctance. "There are a lot of people who would kill for this opportunity," the older man told her as if this should be a comfort before he took hold of her upper arm.

The Asset frowned, his expression somewhat dazed as his eyes roved the room. He glanced at the assistant Pierce had a hold of before searching the lab once again. "Where's Brock?" he asked. "He should be here by now."

Pierce halted where he had been pulling the reluctant woman toward the Soldier, her high heels making scuffing sounds as they skidded along the tile to a stop. "Brock," he said in a deadpan voice. Since when was the Asset on a first name basis with anyone, let alone Rumlow of all people?

"Yeah," the Asset said, his eyes still sliding around the room as though the man in question would emerge from one of the shadows cast by the overhead lights. "He helps me sometimes when we're in the field."

"Does he?" Pierce asked in a voice that wasn't particularly pleased. "With what?"

"Dresses my wounds, helps me get cleaned up sometimes," the Soldier told Pierce. He didn't look at the man, but stared off into the distance as if caught in a memory. "Helps me shave, washes my hair." His flesh and blood hand rose to absently comb through his sweaty locks. "I like it when he washes my hair."

"Well, that's awfully kind of him, isn't it?" Pierce said, his voice saccharine. The older man gazed  over sharply at Rollins, raising his eyebrows as if requesting an explanation for his superior's behavior. Rollins stared back with a neutral expression that was belied by how he shifted nervously. Interactions with the Asset were supposed to be as impersonal as possible for a reason. No wonder the man slipped out of control too easily at times.

"Brock will help me," the Winter Soldier said in a voice that held the weight of certainty. Glassy eyes slid toward Pierce again. "Where is he?"

Pierce pursed his lips, considering. He released the assistant that the Asset had shown no interest in. The woman made her way back to her station, shooting the scientist a dirty look as she did so. Pierce's lips quirked up in a broadening smile as he gazed over at Rollins, his hands spread questioningly. "Where's Rumlow?" he asked.

"He went to obtain a replacement weapon, sir," Rollins answered, thankful that his voice held no tremor.

"Well, please go retrieve him, Rollins. His friend here needs his help," Pierce said, his smile not reaching his eyes.

 

"So, what does Pierce want to see me about?" Rumlow asked as they turned the corner down the short hallway.

"He didn't really say," Rollins answered, and it wasn't a complete lie. "Something about the Asset, I think."

"Alright," Rumlow answered, trying to sound unconcerned, but a sinking feeling took root in his gut. It's not as though he'd really broken the rules in regard to the Asset, so he tried to reassure himself that he needn't be worried. That was until he entered the lab to the sight of Pierce standing in the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back. The older man was wearing that faintly smiling expression that usually meant trouble for whoever it was directed toward. Rumlow noted that the chair that the Asset should be sitting in was empty. None of the people milling around made eye contact with Rumlow when he gave a circumspect glance to the room.

"Hello, Brock," Pierce greeted. The man never referred to his subordinates in a familiar way, so Rumlow started to realize what kind of trouble he was in. "It's interesting to hear how close you and the Asset have become lately."

"We're not close, sir," Rumlow insisted. "Sometimes I just help Winter out when-"

"' _Winter_ ,'" Pierce echoed. "Well, isn't that cute. The Asset doesn't _have_ a name Rumlow. You're supposed to be aware of that."

"It's not like... I have to call him _something_ when-"

"No, you don't," Pierce interrupted as he stepped closer. The look on his face made Rumlow want to avert his eyes. "You're aware of the rules regarding interactions with the Asset."

"I am, sir," Rumlow insisted. "I didn't really break any of them. Besides, you know how he gets sometimes before or after a mission. Sometimes he's not able to do anything for himself, staring off into space like he does. When he's like that and we're in the field, somebody has to see to him."

"And you decided that this someone should be you," Pierce said deadpan.

"It's not that I decided, necessarily. Even with all the conditioning, some of the other guys are more than a little nervous around Win- the Asset," Rumlow explained.

"But you're not afraid of him." Pierce gazed at him levelly.

"Anyone would be crazy not to be afraid of him," Rumlow admitted, "but I'm not as much as the others."

While Rumlow felt uneasy, he tried not to wilt under Pierce's searching gaze. Brock hoped that the man would accept the explanation he'd given for his behavior, which was only part of the truth. Brock knew he'd been tempting fate the longer he went about being some sort of de facto caretaker, hoping that the guys on the team who gave him odd looks wouldn't report him, but he couldn't help himself. There was something about having a man who was strong enough to kill him five different ways before he could even draw his weapon soft and pliant under his hands that appealed to something dark that lurked within Rumlow. The contradiction of the most dangerous man alive becoming almost child-like at times had a feeling coiling in his gut the memory of which had him searching for release on more than one night.

And if Rumlow lingered in intimate areas while he bathed the man longer than necessary just to see Winter tip back his head and part those rosy lips of his, that little gasp Brock lived to hear escaping them, what was so wrong with that? It's not like the man seemed to mind. The opposite, in fact, if the way the brunet rolled his hips into Brock's touch at times like those was any indication.

"I understand completely, Rumlow," Pierce told him after a moment. He watched the man visibly relax. "In fact, some of that rapport, shall we say, that you've developed with him might be what's needed right now." The older man placed a hand on Rumlow's back and steered him toward a steel door in the rear of the room.

"I'm not sure I follow," Brock admitted.

"You've taken such good care of the Asset," Pierce told him. "I'm appreciative, really I am. And we all need you to do it again. In the interests of the missions that remain to be completed."

"Alright," Rumlow said slowly, watching Pierce open the steel door.

"Oh, you won't be needing this," Pierce said as he removed Rumlow's sidearm from its holster. The younger man frowned, but knew better than to make a protest. "Wouldn't want any accidents."

Pierce nudged a mildly confused Rumlow through the door. Brock turned around in time for it to shut in his face. There was a faint 'snick' as a bolt slid into place. Turning to gaze into the room, Rumlow caught sight of the Asset sitting on the small bed against the back wall, the only furnishing in the spartan room. The artificial light from above cast shadows on the man's features. His usually blue eyes appeared so very dark as they tracked his movements. Rumlow's eye was drawn to the recessed security camera in the far corner of the room.

"Hey, Winter," Rumlow began, "you okay?"

"I need you to help me," the man told him, his expression earnest as he gazed over at Rumlow. A bead of sweat trailed down his bare chest to disappear into his navel. "You always help me."

"Sure, I'll help you," Rumlow said carefully, glancing back toward the locked door before heading toward the seated man. "What with?"

The Winter Soldier rose from the bed in a smooth, graceful motion before stalking toward the other man. He drew his lower lip into his mouth to moisten it. It emerged to glisten in the overhead lights. When he stood before the other man, he took Rumlow's hand in his living one, pressing it to his groin. "With this," he said, his fingers making Rumlow's squeeze the hardness between his legs.

Rumlow gazed at him for a moment before his eyes strayed to the camera in the corner of the room. It's not that he had something against taking Winter. Some of his best dreams involved the handsome man draped over some piece of furniture or other while Brock plowed him, helpless moans spilling from those full lips while he gripped his hips hard enough to bruise. But despite other predilections, Rumlow wasn't interested in giving anyone a show, least of all Pierce. But Winter was pushing him so that he was walking backward toward the bed, and the man's eyes held a dangerous light that Rumlow hadn't seen before. When his calves bumped against the edge of the mattress, Brock resisted being pushed backward onto it.

"Didn't they try to give you something to-"

"The drugs didn't work," the Soldier explained. "Pierce said to do things the old fashioned way. I love the old fashioned way." He drew his hands up Brock's upper arms, sliding one up the side of his neck and into his short hair.

"People are watching," Rumlow countered. "It's not the best of ideas."

"It's a great idea," the Winter Soldier told him, pushing him firmly onto the bed into a sitting position, hardly exerting any strength while doing so.

"Winter, wait-" Rumlow uttered before finding himself pushed swiftly onto his back, metal hand in the center of his chest pinning him to the flimsy mattress.

"Relax," the Soldier said. "Don't be so nervous. I'll show you a good time." He briefly pressed down harder in warning, making Rumlow's eyes widen before the metallic hand slid to his side.

With both hands, the Soldier rucked up Brock's shirt until it was resting above his pectorals. Rumlow gasped at the sensation of a warm mouth drawing one of his nipples into it, the flesh hardening as it was suckled. A cool metallic hand skidded across his chest and then down his abdominals before trailing lower to squeeze him firmly through his clothing. Rumlow groaned despite himself and the watching camera, flesh between his legs hardening in interest.

When Winter slid down his body and Rumlow felt teeth graze his erection through his trousers, he shuddered. When he tried to sit up restlessly, he found himself pushed back down again. Rumlow gazed down his body at the other man as he unfastened Rumlow's belt and pants, shoving them downward along with his underwear. His half-hard and grateful cock bobbed when it was freed from its confines, made that much more grateful by the Soldier drawing it into his mouth without preamble.

Gasping, Rumlow cursed, his back arching off the bed. He shoved both hands into Winter's sweat-damp hair, the stroking motions making the other man groan around his length. It wasn't long before Brock was rutting up into his mouth, one hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder for purchase. He could feel himself hitting the back of the man's throat periodically and Winter didn't so much as gag, just continued to suck for all he was worth. It was glorious. Until cool, unyielding metal circled his entrance briefly before pressing inside.

"The hell," Rumlow choked, his hands now trying to shove the other man away. Though the metal digit had a smooth surface, it still burned uncomfortably as it slid in unlubricated. The Soldier moved away to pull off the other man's boots. Rumlow sat up as the man was tugging the pants off of his body, unable to stop his foot from lashing out. The Soldier caught it easily before it made impact, staring at the offending limb before pressing it back to the bed.

"Hey, this isn't my thing," Brock informed him. The other man gazed at him unblinking. "I don't catch, I pitch," he insisted. "Now, if you spread yourself out on this bed, we've got a deal."

The Soldier gazed at him sidelong while he rose to shimmy out of his trousers, an odd little look on his face that passed for amusement. His ample erection bobbed as he moved forward toward Rumlow who'd tried to rise from the bed. He pushed him back down with his metal hand while he hiked a leg in the other. When Brock pushed ineffectually at him with his arms, the Soldier complained, "You said you were going to help me."

Brock panicked as he felt his rock hard erection pressing against his entrance. "You're not going to just fuck me dry, are you?" His stomach sank at Winter's confused look. "Christ, if you're gonna do it, at least use something!" Rumlow's eyes cast desperately around the room as though he'd find what was necessary on the blank walls. They hadn't even given him or Winter anything to use for lubrication when they'd stuck them in here, bunch of assholes.

Suddenly, Rumlow's legs were up in the air as Winter pushed upward with a hand behind each of his knees. He held Rumlow spread as he bent downward, and Brock found his head whipping backward to press against the mattress at the warm and moist tongue lapping at his entrance.

"Oh, Christ," Rumlow moaned, squirming as he clutched the sheet. The Asset's tongue spread his saliva over Brock's puckered hole and up his perineum before returning to press inward as Rumlow keened. His cock swelled, his body shuddering. He'd never experienced this before, but now that he had, Brock thought he could come just from this.

But the Soldier had other ideas. His right hand released Brock's leg so that he could spit generously into it. He spread the bit of moisture on his cock as he gazed hungrily down at Rumlow.

"That's not going to be enough," Brock complained. "Wait-" he choked as Winter bent over him and started to press inside, heedless of his words. Brock struggled and pushed against him futilely while Winter shushed him, but how did he expect him to relax when what felt like an ample steel rod was pressing its way relentlessly into him?

"Just be patient," the Soldier said, gathering the struggling man's hands into his steel one and pinning his wrists above his head against the mattress. "I'll make you like it," he promised, his other hand hiking Brock's thigh up with a firm grip.

Keening through gritted teeth, Rumlow's back arched off the bed as the other man came to rest deep within him after a long, firm push. His hole twitched around the intrusion, already sore from the stretching burn of entry. Brock had a moment's respite before Winter drew himself out only to push back inside, too dry and too quickly.

"Nnn, tight," Winter moaned. His head fell against Rumlow's shoulder as he snapped his hips forward, the sharp, quick thrusts making the other man writhe where he was pinned against the bed.

"Fuck," Rumlow groaned breathlessly, twisting under the other man, wrists rubbing themselves raw against metal digits. No matter how Brock struggled, he couldn't break free, the anxiety at being trapped fluttering in his gut. The only thing he could do was lie there and take it, barely able to breathe. He could smell their mingling sweat, and hear the sound of their skin slapping together as Winter plowed him. He could feel the heat of the other man's breath on his neck, and the teeth that scraped against the angle of his jaw.

After a few moments, Winter hit something within Rumlow that had him groaning, his softened cock filling where it was trapped between them. The burn from the relentless thrusts was almost unbearable, but this was tempered by the pleasure evoked by the slide against that spot inside him. Rumlow twisted against the Soldier's grip again just to feel his own lack of strength compared to the other man, the anxiety in his gut transforming into exhilaration. After a while, the pain became its own form of pleasure. As much as he wanted Winter bent to his own will, Rumlow began to realize that part of him wanted this, to be reduced to a receptacle for the other man's lust.

"I'm so sick," Brock groaned as much from pleasure as pain at a particularly sharp thrust. "I'm so fucking sick." His cock drooled precome onto his shivering belly.

The Soldier squeezed the other man's cock with his right hand, rolling his thumb over the head to gather moisture before stroking him briskly. Rumlow's body contorted beneath him. A few strokes later, he spilled over Winter's hand and painted stripes across his own belly. Winter plowed his twitching hole with a growl, nipping at the underside of Brock's jaw while the man whined. Erratic thrusts shook Rumlow's body before the Soldier shoved in to the hilt, shuddering as he spilled inside. Rumlow imagined he could feel the hot fluid pouring into him while Winter groaned and twitched on top of him. The man pulled out a moment later, semen coating Brock's aching passage and staining his thigh. The bed creaked when Winter sat down next to Rumlow's limp and panting form.

Brock lay against the bed, every muscle of his body sore and his mind numbingly blank. He didn't so much as twitch when Winter's right hand reached over to stroke across his stained belly and up over his heaving chest, working the fluid there into his skin. Brock gazed tiredly up at the oddly fond expression the man wore as he watched Brock try to catch his breath.

Rumlow became unnerved when he noticed that although Winter had come, his cock was still jutting up from his groin eagerly. A sense of dread had a moment to register in his mind before he found himself swiftly flipped over on his belly and his legs pulled over the edge of the bed. Rumlow's protests died on his lips as the Soldier buried himself inside in one smooth movement. Brock groaned as Winter set a vigorous pace, butting against his oversensitive prostate on each brisk thrust. The rough grip the Soldier had on his hips was sure to leave bruises.

"Winter, enough," Rumlow panted into the sheets. "Finish already. I can't take much more of this." His cock rubbed uncomfortably where it was trapped against the side of the mattress.

Winter didn't answer as he bent over him, his hot breath warming the back of Rumlow's neck as he nipped at the nape of it. He moaned against Brock's heated skin, shoving forward hard enough to push the other man beyond speech. With a breathless whimper, Rumlow sank limply against the bed under the camera's unblinking eye, the sound of their rutting echoing off the stale white walls.

 


End file.
